Lost and Found
by Bubbletrix
Summary: Sequel to 'Fight for Q'. The fight against the organisation continues, and it's just about to get even more personal for the Quartermaster and 007. Still features 00Q. Rated T for suicidal themes and self-harm.
1. Chapter 1

"Run, 007, _faster_!" Q's normally cool and collected voice kept threatening to crack as he watched his lover being chased through the streets, pursued by eight armed criminals, on the other side of the Channel. He could hear Bond panting through the earpiece; for the first five kilometres his chaser's had been in cars.

"Turn right into that doorway ahead of you, go downstairs, then left. No, _left_, Bond!"

Gunshots sounded across Q-Unit, exploding from Bond's earpiece.

"Q, I can't shake them."

"Don't you dare," Q said, as he recognised Bond's tone of voice. "You're outnumbered! You can't! Don't you dare!"

"Q," Bond puffed. "You _know_ this is the best shot we've had at this bloody organisation for months! I can't let this file get away!"

"If you die, Bond, then we'll lose the information as well!"

More bullets peppered the wall near Bond's head, and he swore as he felt brick shards skate across his face.

"Where's the trust, Quartermaster?"

Before Q could say another word, he heard Bond fire back at the attackers, leaping to get into a better position.

"Someone get me CCTV, anything, now!" He yelled across Q-Unit, sending his minions scurrying.

"I'm sorry, sir, we can't! They've been shot out!"

Q swore under his breath just as the firing stopped from the earpiece.

"Bond? 007, report!"

There was nothing for one horrifying heartbeat.

"Targets eliminated."

Everyone in Q-Unit let out a sigh of relief, and Q had to brace himself on his desk to stop his knees giving way.

"Are you injured?"

"Minor scratches, nothing to be concerned about, sir. But you're still more than welcome to look me over once I get home." His tone slipped from teasing to suggestive.

Q rubbed his forehead, ignoring Bond's comment and the giggling from the minions behind him, and motioned for someone to go get him more tea. He then straightened his back and squared his shoulders, once more becoming the Quartermaster of MI6.

"Return as soon as possible, agent. Your car's still waiting back on Main Street."

"Thank you Q, I should return in four hours."

"You better," Q muttered, only loud enough for Bond to hear him.

Bond laughed.

"Or what my dear-" Two shots echoed through the connection, surprisingly loud, and all of Bond's vitals on the screen went blank.

"_No_," Q thought, his mind going numb as he saw Bond's heartbeat and blood pressure both blank out. "_No, James, please._"

All of Q-Unit had gone completely silent.

"Tracker!" Q ordered, his voice pure authority. "Get his tracker now!"

"Bond?" He said into 007's earpiece. "James, please! Please, please answer!" There was only static.

"Sir," R said behind him. "We've lost the signal from the tracker. It's gone."

Q picked up two phones at once, his work one and his personal one. He dialled Bond's number from his personal, and 003's from his work. 003 picked up while Bond's was still ringing.

"Q?" He was puffing, Q knew he was down in the gym, running a training exercise for the new recruits.

"003, come to Q-Unit now, you're going to France. We've lost signal on Bond."

"On my way," When 003 hung up, Bond's phone rang out.

"James."

Two hours later 003 was dropped off at the same town Bond was in, armed only with a gun and an emergency first-aid pack. As soon as he touched the ground, Q walked back out of his office. R looked at him in dismay. In 120 minutes he'd gone from the unruffled, untouchable Quartermaster, flirting with his agent boyfriend, trying to bring down an illegal international organisation, to a complete wreck. His hair was out of control, as if Q had been clawing at it, and his eyes were red with tears. R could see his hands shaking as well; not a good sign.

"Q, can I take this one?" She asked hesitantly, but he shook her off.

"I'm fine." His voice was hoarse and didn't come out louder than a whisper. He listened to 003 on the comms as he walked in to where Bond had last been heard.

"Q, his car's here. I can see it in the road. The tyres have been shot out."

Q heard a door open.

"Including the spare. No-one's near the car. I'm going inside."

A few more seconds silence.

"I can see the bodies. There's seven dead here, all which match the pictures you got of the pursuers. I can't see Bond, though. But Q…"

"What? What else is there?" Q's knuckles were white against his desk, his heartbeat thundering through him.

"There's heaps of blood. And it didn't come from the seven here."

"Can you follow it?"

"No, it stops near the doorway, someone was pressuring it."

Q felt a flicker of hope and he clutched at it wildly.

"003, is it possible that it was Bond who got out? Because we're still missing one of the attackers, too. Eight of them followed him in."

"At the moment it looks like it could have been either of them… Hang on Q, there's something around the corner…"

Q counted to five in his head and then couldn't stand it, hope filling his chest.

"003, what is it? What do you see?"

"It's… Oh shit, Q… I'm so sorry."

Q could feel the whole of Q-Unit's eyes on his back.

"It's," 003 continued. "It's the eighth man and… Q, it's Bond. It's James."

The world crashed around Q. His ears roared, and he could vaguely feel himself falling, and then hitting the ground, hard. He was only dimly aware of R's voice, and someone's hands trying to move him, and then giving up and letting him lie on the cold floor. Because this couldn't be true, not after everything that had happened, not after Markusi, it couldn't be James, it couldn't be now… Without realising, Q started sobbing, huge gut-wrenching sobs that caused his body to begin shaking like he'd touched a livewire. His eyes were closed, but his head was spinning, as if it was physically trying to make him look at the problem from another point of view. After an indeterminate amount of time, he felt new hands on him and Eve's voice sounded softly in his ear, breaking him out of his haze. She tugged on his hand and he unconsciously got to his feet and staggered into his office, where the door was shut and he collapsed on his couch. It still smelled like James, who had been lying here not two days ago… This couldn't be happening.

"Q," Eve was speaking again. "Q, you need to listen to me now, OK? You need to know. James was shot and killed in the alleyway, after killing the last of his attackers. His face… 003 couldn't recognise his face anymore, but he knows Bond's body shape, and the man had Bond's Walther on him, as well as his phone. 003's bringing him home now, he'll be here in two days."

Eve looked at him, her expression a horrible mix between pity and professionalism.

"I'm going to get you a drink. Sit tight."

She got up and left.

Once the door clicked shut, Q tried to sit up, his muscles aching as they minutely relaxed from his position on the floor. He took a deep breath, but the room span even more and he bolted of out of the office and into the bathrooms, emptying his stomach in one of the cubicles. His whole body, his whole _being_, rejecting what Eve had told him.

Eventually he stood up again, sticky with sweat, and made his way back to his office, not even feeling the stares he was given by some from Q-Unit, and the tears of others. R quietly got everyone's attention back and continued them working, organising 003 and 007's return home.

Q closed his office door and spotted a full wine bottle and a glass on his table, presumably from Eve. He picked it up, but the sweat from his hands made the bottle slip and floor. Q lunged forward trying to catch it before it hit the carpet but only managed to knock it onto the table, where it smashed beneath his hands. Immediately his white carpet, cardigan, and pants were covered in red as the wine stained the material. Q swore and bent down to pick up the pieces of glass when pain lanced up his arms. He looked at himself more closely and realised that a new shade of red was blending with the first.

A wave of helplessness crashed over him. He couldn't do this without James, he couldn't face the world without him. Even before Markusi Bond had been Q's rock, always settling him, comforting him against failed missions and missing agents, being the first person Q had trusted for years…  
He was broken out of his thoughts by the door opening and R rushing in. Her face turned from concern to shock to horror as she took in the spilt drink and the blood.

"I heard the crash… I'll get some towels."

She backed out, closing the door behind her. Q looked around the room, completely lost.

"James."

"I'll take him home," Eve volunteered. It was four in the morning, and the last of the paperwork had been written up – there was always so much to do after an agent fell in the field – and the only thing needed was the Quartermaster's signature, as he'd been 007's handler for the mission, but even M said that it could wait a day. Q had stayed in his office, not opening the door since R bought him some towels to clean the alcohol.

"Thank you, Eve, but no." M looked exhausted, dark smudges having appeared under his eyes. "I think it would be better if he stayed here."

"But sir-"

"Thank you for your input, but I need Q under my supervision." His tone was final.

Eve nodded and picked up her bag.

"I'll be in my flat if I'm needed."

Once she left, M let out a huge sigh and sank down into his chair. He knew he needed sleep, but he couldn't leave MI6 with Q holed up in his office. No one else, not even Eve or Tanner, knew Q's file, knew his history. M didn't even think Bond had. M accessed the surveillance system for the headquarters and hooked his computer up to the camera showing Q's office door. He wouldn't invade Q's privacy by watching what he was doing inside, but he could instantly see if Q left the room.

Someone needed to watch over him tonight.

Q didn't sleep either. He sat in the corner of his office staring at his phone, his arms wrapped around his knees, tears falling down his face. After Markusi, whenever Bond was on a mission he always texted, every night he was away. It was always the exact same text, and Q once joked with him that he just copied and pasted it, but Bond had looked him in the eyes and said he wouldn't dream of it, because he meant it every time.

"_I'm missing you. I'll be home soon. Stay safe._"

But no matter how much he stared at it, wishing, praying, Q's phone stayed blank.

After another few hours Q heard workers in Q-Unit again, chatting as they came in and then falling silent as the night shift told them what had happened. There were a few footsteps near his door, but he heard R's voice call whoever it was back, and the footsteps faded away.

Time passed slowly. It was two in the afternoon when there was a knock on the door, and Q ignored it, not wanting anyone to come in, not wanting to talk to anyone. To his distaste a key card sounded and the door unlocked itself. M stepped in, holding a steaming mug, and a bottle of water. He closed the door, cutting off the bustle from the Unit, and looked at Q on the ground. Q looked at his phone. M didn't say anything for minutes. Finally he put the water and tea down on the table and walked back to the door.

"I'll be in my office."

Then he was gone.

After a while, the day shift ended and Q-Unit emptied again. When there was no sound coming from outside, Q slowly stood up and opened the door. R was the only one there, and she looked up, saw Q's expression, and looked back down at her computer. Q stepped over some food trays that had been left outside his door and went to the bathrooms. By the time he got there, he was shaking again, and he only just managed to reach a toilet before he threw up the nothing that was left in his stomach. He wiped his mouth on some damp paper towel and walked back to his office, ignoring the food, R, and anything else that could have been in between. He collapsed onto the sofa, unable to support himself, and fell back into the darkness of his thoughts.

Upstairs, M sighed. He'd watched Q move outside of his office for about five minutes, and then return, looking weaker than he had during the day. He picked up the phone, and dialled a number he never thought he was going to have to call again. Like this morning, it was picked up straight away.

"Not good," M responded to a question. "No, he hasn't eaten, or drunk anything. Could you…? No, I understand. I'll keep an eye on him. Of course, sir, I'll call you if nothing changes… Or if something does."


	2. Chapter 2

It was another few days before Q was finally bundled up and taken home by Eve. Q sat listlessly in the car as she drove them through London's traffic and didn't say a word as she pulled up outside the apartment. Which meant that there was no way she could have anticipated the rage the Q flew into when she tried to come in. He all but pushed her out, slamming the door in her face, revolted by the thought of anyone coming into his sanctuary… What had been his sanctuary.

As soon as Eve left the building, Q stumbled to the bedroom and collapsed on James's side of the bed, holding onto his pillow like life-support. His arms twinged where the glass had cut them, but the bandages cushioned the worst of the pain. He couldn't even remember who'd performed the first aid, was it Eve? Or M, on one of his visits, leaving another mug on Q's table and taking the last cold one away? When the sun had finally set Q fell into a sort of forced unconsciousness, his body giving out under the exhaustion of the last few days.

He'd been there when they bought Bond's body in. It was the first time he'd left his office when there were still people working at Q-Unit, instead of sneaking past R in between shifts. No-one commented when their Quartermaster turned up and made his way through the few people in the room. He zipped open the body-bag and stared into the mess of what had used to be a face. Someone had cleaned up the blood, but it still looked gory, unhuman, just a mass of torn flesh. This couldn't be James, it couldn't… Q had left the room with his stomach turning.

When Q resurfaced, it was well into the night. Even the constant sound of the cars had dulled to an occasional horn blast, or a fading engine. He lay in the bed, looking at the ceiling, still clinging to the pillow. He pushed his head into it and inhaled, filling his lungs with the smell of James, before it all faded away. He barely moved for three days. And for the whole time, he was asking himself one question: What's the point without James? On the fourth day, Q made a decision and opened his laptop.

Eve knocked on M's door and walked in, twirling a pen through her fingers.

"You asked to see me, sir?"

M motioned for her to sit down.

"Eve, I'm telling you this with the knowledge that you can do this discreetly, and then never tell another person. I'm not going to tell you the reasons why, I just need you to do as I ask. Is that clear?"

Eve nodded, leaning forward slightly in her chair. What was going on?

"I'm putting Q on a watch list. He will be returning to work shortly, I'm speaking to him this evening, but from now on, no matter where he is, I want to know what he's doing and where he's going."

Eve looked at M, not believing what she's hearing.

"Sir, I understand Q's not in a good state of mind right now, but he would _never_ sell us out. He loves his job, it's his life, and his loss won't make him betray us, I promise you."

M shook his head. He was hoping he wasn't going to have to spell this out.

"Eve, I'm not putting him on a surveillance list. It's like you said, he's not in his right mind at the moment. I don't want him to do anything… desperate."

M looked at Eve as what he was saying sunk in. She opened her mouth, and then remembered how she said she wouldn't ask any questions.

"I'm worried about him, Eve. I won't lose him."

Eve nodded again, her eyes shining.

"Of course, sir." She stood up. "I'll put him on the list straight away, and figure out a security detail to have him…"

"Have him followed," M said, standing, too. "Whatever it takes, Eve."

Eve turned around to leave, and froze. M looked up and froze, too, staring at the doorway.

Bloody, bruised, beaten. It was Bond.

"Who's getting followed?"

Eve and M just kept staring. After a minute Bond spoke again.

"You know, I'd have thought that by now you really won't be surprised that I'm not dead."

Finally M blinked.

"007. What happened?"

Bond leant against the doorway and winced.

"Could we debrief in an hour? I feel like I really should make an appearance at Q-Unit."

He smirked, thinking how stunned Q was going to be. To his surprise, M and Eve just looked at each other, for once neither of them saying a word.

"Bond… Q's not at MI6."

It was the tone of voice that caught Bond off guard. It was tentative, cautious. Something was going on. Something about Q. Something that made M sound scared.

"M, what's happened?"

"You died."

"Where is he?"

"He's-" But he was cut off by a sound from his computer alerting him to an incoming email. M clicked on it and read it quickly, his eyes widening. He stood up and grabbed something from a drawer in his desk.

"My car, now!"

He hurried out the door and Bond and Eve chased after him. Halfway to the parking lot M broke into a run, racing through the corridors, sending interns piled up with papers flying. It wasn't until they had flung themselves in M's car that Bond got a word out.

"Where are we going? What's happened?"

"The email was from Q." M threw his car into reverse. "It was a letter of resignation."

After Q sent the email to M, he stared at the computer for a second before pushing down on the power button and watched the screen go black. His phone rang. It was M's number. Q ignored it. His phone rang again a minute later and the new number sent a shock of fury and grief down his spine. Why would _he_ be calling now? M couldn't… M wouldn't have…

"Does it matter now?" Q asked, looking at himself in the mirror. He already looked like a ghost.

"No."

He ignored the second call. And the third one, this time from Eve. Q walked to the bathroom, dragging his feet. Everything was so much effort and it seemed to take years to move the few steps to get into the other room. He slowly unwrapped his arms, looking at the impressions the wine bottle had smashed onto his skin. M would've made him get those grafted over as well, an experience Q was glad that he wouldn't have to go through again. He flexed and he saw the blood well up and trickle down his wrists. Who said he should've gotten stitches? They were right.

Q opened the bathroom cupboard and looked at his options. They always kept heavy-duty medications at their house. The number of times Bond had come home bleeding, even performing self-surgery rather than go into Medical was astonishing. Q ran his hand across the packets until it came to rest on one almost by itself. He pulled it open and broke the seal, admiring the fine white powder that came away in his fingers. His hands were shaking again and he heard his phone demanding his attention from the bedroom. Someone was moving heavily through the staircase, Q could hear them even from inside the apartment. He wondered briefly what the rush was and then shook his head. Without James nothing mattered.

"You know," he told himself. "That sounds so petty." He knew that if James had died prior to his trip to Markusi, he probably would've been able to cope. But he still woke up screaming, twitching, thrashing in their bed, and only James could calm him down. Without him, Q knew he would be overwhelmed by the torturous dreams, by the scars that MI6 couldn't just cover over, and for someone who was always in complete control, the mere thought of that was too terrifying to consider.

"I can't do it without you James."

He hoped that wherever James was now, he couldn't see him.

Bond sprinted to the door and jammed his hand on the doorknob. It read his palm-print and unlocked itself. He flew through the door, yelling across the apartment.

"Q! _Q!_"

He ran into their bedroom and saw Q's laptop, turned off, and Q's phone on the bed. He looked around wildly, trying to find him. And only because he'd stopped moving did he hear the smallest sob, a most despairing intake of breath coming from the bathroom.

"Q!"

He almost tore down the bathroom door.

The two of them made eye contact, neither moving from their position. Bond was poised as if he was about to attack, or defend, someone with his life. All his muscles were tense and he was experiencing a type of adrenaline he didn't know before Q's rescue in Markusi. Bond took in Q, seeing everything at once. His hair was more tangled than Bond had ever seen it and it cast a dark shadow over Q's skin which had returned to the sallow colour it was after Q was kidnapped. All the weight Q had regained over the past six months had disappeared in a week and it made Q look more like a skeleton than ever before. Blood dripped down both his arms and onto the floor, making the tiles slick beneath Q's feet. In his hands was a box that Bond recognised immediately. Hadn't he insisted that Q should bring some home from Medical? Hadn't he said that it was the only thing that could stop the hurt of a bullet wound, or worse? Seals were cracked and Bond quickly counted how many were missing from the packet, and how many were in Q's hands. It was the same number. Q was shaking like a leaf, just staring at Bond, as if he didn't, or couldn't, believe what his eyes were telling him.

Ever so cautiously Bond took a half-step forward.

"Q? Q, it's me. I'm so, so sorry. I'm not dead, I promise this is real."

Q didn't even breathe. Bond took another step closer.

"I was being followed and I had to get them off my trail, which included giving them my phone and gun. I'm so sorry, I got back as soon as I could."

A single tear slid down Q's cheek.

"I did get shot, in my side, which is why my tracker and vitals went down. It was a lucky shot on their behalf, it was a complete fluke. I'm so sorry."

A second tear quickly followed the first and Bond took another step closer. There were only centimetres between them now. Bond reached up, as slowly as he could, and gently cupped Q's face. As their skin touched, Q took in a deep breath and swayed on the spot for a second, until he staggered forward. Bond caught him and gently lowered them both to the ground, holding Q's shaking form in his arms, to his chest, with Q's ear pressed against his heart.

M and Eve found them like that a minute later, sitting in a widening pool of blood, with pills scattered around them, like confetti. Q's head was buried in Bond's shoulder and neither of them moved as their two friends looked on. Finally M touched Eve's elbow and motioned for them to step away. They went to the kitchen where Eve put on the kettle and M poured a drink, helping himself to some of Bond's expensive Scotch.

They heard a shower turn on, and then off five minutes later. Five minutes after that both Bond and Q came out with Q's arms neatly rebandaged. Q look exhausted and Bond didn't look much better and Eve noticed that even as they sat down, they still kept some contact between them. M poured another glass of Scotch, which Bond took gratefully. Eve poured Q some tea. The four of them sipped their drinks silently. When Eve and M were done they put their glasses in the sink and Eve opened the front door.

"Q," M said. "As of tomorrow you're going to be seeing the psychologist at work twice a week. I won't take you off any of your duties, but you'll be watched closely. Have a good rest. Bond? Please report to Medical tomorrow as well, we need to stitch you up properly and give you a new tracker. Then you'll come debrief in my office. See you both then."

He laid his hand on Q's shoulder for a moment and then turned and left, Eve closed the door behind them.

Neither Bond nor Q said anything for a while, afraid of what the other person was thinking.

When both glasses were washed and dried, Bond took Q's hands and pulled him into bed, holding him against his chest again.

"I love you," he said against the mop of dark hair beneath his chin.

"I'm sorry," Q whispered, tensing at Bond's reaction.

"I don't think that's the typical answer, Q. I love you."

Q hesitated.

"I love you, James."

"Go to sleep my dearest. I'll be here when you wake up."

Q reached into the blankets until he found Bond's hand and squeezed it.

"I know."


	3. Chapter 3

Life went back to normal at MI6 – or at least as 'normal' as it could get. The minions at Q-Unit didn't ask when their leader had to leave for an hour, twice a week, and they thought that M had an extra special interest in a new weapons prototype, because why else would he be visiting more often?

007's latest resurrection was the talk of the headquarters for a whole week, before 001 managed to set fire to Singapore. It had seemed the organisation had finally caught on that someone was trying to track them down, and was getting more and more defensive. Bond had managed to stumble on a group of them, when there should have only been an individual, which was why he was chased and shot. There had seemed to be only eight pursuers, but more were waiting outside, after the surrounding cameras – and Bond's tracker – had been shot out. He'd eliminated the seven in the room and gone outside to find at least ten more waiting for him. He threw a few off his trail and got two cornered, killing them, but the others had been right behind him and by this point he was bleeding profusely and vastly outnumbered. He saw one of the men was almost exactly his size and mangled his face enough to ensure he wouldn't be recognised. He swapped their clothes, and planted his gun and phone on the fake Bond. The minions were shocked that 007 didn't get a lecture from the Quartermaster about haphazardly leaving weapons and communication devices lying around, but then again, 003 had retrieved the items, so all was not lost.

Bond also seemed to hover slightly more in Q-Unit, which the minions didn't mind because it meant their prototypes often got tested straight away, and Q was generally happier when the agent was nearby.

Q-Unit was a bit wary of Q, though. They'd never seen him lose control like he had when Bond died. Of course everything was a little different after Markusi, 007 got a lot more protective, which they didn't think was possible, but this was another change. For the first few days Q kept looking at him, as if to reassure himself that he really was there, but Bond was looking at Q in the same way. There was some talk in the kitchen that maybe someone from the organisation had mentioned Q to Bond, invoking the memories of Q being held captive and had him set on edge, but no one was really sure. The talk was abruptly cut off when the double 0 in question walked in, making the Quartermaster another cup of tea. He'd smiled at them all, and then leaned casually against the bench while the kettle boiled. The minions scuttled back to their desks but Bond caught one, Richards, as he was leaving. He gulped.

"So, it's Richards, right?"

"Yes, sir," he managed to stutter out. Agents were intimidating and no one had a track record like 007, even if he and Q were together.

"I want to ask you something, but you can't ever tell Q that I did. Is that clear?"

Richards hesitated, the thought of doing something against their beloved boss momentarily overriding his fear of an agent.

"It's nothing big, I promise," Bond pressed, giving the techie another winning smile. Richards nodded.

"What do you need, 007?"

"Did Q talk at all? When I was gone, I mean?"

Richards relaxed, was that all?

"No, sir. He was in his office for a few days, and then retired to his apartment. I mean, your apartment!" He blushed and looked at the ground. Bond grunted and thanked him, looking away and Richards backed out of the room, returning to the safety of his desk. He didn't bother to mention the short conversation to anyone, it all seemed irrelevant when he immersed himself back into his computer codes. Who knew what kind of relationship the Quartermaster and 007 had? It was none of his business.

Even though Bond had temporarily been killed, the mission was actually a success. He'd been able to grab the information about the organisation before he was located by the enemy, and he'd held onto it whilst making his way back to England. Unfortunately for Q it wasn't in code.

Well, not computer code. It seemed to give them almost no information at all, and it was driving Q crazy. They had been working on this for months, and this had been their best shot, James had almost died for it, and it was nothing. Not a false lead, but they couldn't get any facts they didn't already have. After another month of sifting through the files, Q blew it. It was a Tuesday morning and Bond was leaning against the walls of Q-Unit, talking with one of the minions about the pros and cons of a new ear-piece when there was a yell and a loud band from Q's office. Bond had his gun out in less than a second and was at Q's door a moment later. He was about to unlock it when it burst open and Q stalked past him, looking furious. Q-Unit fell completely silent. Bond put his gun away hurriedly, knowing that the last thing Q needed was a weapon pointed at him. Q waved generally at R as he picked up a small briefcase from underneath the main desk and then strode out of the room, heading to the practice-range. Everyone looked at Bond, not knowing what to do. Bond looked at R.

"What did he take?"

She looked at the drawer Q had pulled it from and grimaced.

"It's a new bomb we've been meaning to test out. I suppose I can take that out of my schedule this afternoon."

Bond looked towards the door and then went back to his previous conversation. He'd talk to Q later, after he'd blown up a few things.

Q slowly calmed down as he detonated his fifth bomb. He was actually quite pleased by the results. It was a fatal blast, but they'd finally confined it to a ten centimetre radius, making the explosion as controlled as possible. He jotted a note down on the report card before turning the water on in the testing chamber. R had been worried about H2O interference so they'd developed a new skin for the weapon, hoping it would change their previous findings. It took another few blasts before Q realised that M was standing behind him. He shut down the detonator and made a last note on the report before turning around to face him and taking off the headphones.

"That looked successful," M said, motioning towards the blackened test room. Q grinned.

"I'm impressed! The skin's now completely watertight. We've got to check it with fire though, because there's the possibility that it could impact on the explosion range."

"Impact how?"

"Times it by hundred."

M blinked.

"Yeah, we might wait until you get those findings before we send it out in the field."

Q laughed and leaned against the wall, checking no one else was in the room.

"I appreciate you checking on me, M, but surely you've got better things to do with your time."

"I always check on my operatives, but now that you mention it, I have another reason for being here. When Bond was missing, I got a call."

Q immediately tensed. _"Don't ask about it. Please, please, M…"_

"Don't stress Q, I'm not getting involved in your personal politics. I just wanted you to know that he called me, and I was made to… report to him."

"Which is why he called me when I didn't pick up my phone."

"Yes."

Q thought for a while, trying to make himself relax. It didn't work.

"You know, I really hate it when he does that."

"Q-"

"No! You know my file. You're the only one, M! Not even James knows! About any of it! And he thinks he can just call me when something happens? What reason have I possibly got to pick up when _he_ calls?"

"He was really worried about you, Q."

Q glowered at M.

"Well, he wasn't worried enough two years ago, was he? Or even eighteen months. He didn't care!"

M sighed.

"I'm not getting involved, and I really can't have this discussion with you, for professional reasons which I'm sure you're all too well aware of. But I just wanted to let you know." He shifted position, immediately becoming more formal. "How's the information coming?"

Q sighed.

"It's hard. It's not like Stuart's laptop, it's not code. I'm actually feeling a little out of my depth." He cringed at the words, they tasted sour.

"What do we need?"

"An investigator of some sort. Someone who deals with people."

M stood up and nodded.

"I'll find someone, keep working on the fire thing."

He turned and left, thinking about the meeting he should have been in twenty minutes ago. His footsteps were the only warning Bond got, and he just managed to quickly slot himself into a cupboard and close the door when M walked past. When the corridor was clear Bond stepped out and looked at the testing room, where Q was now blowing things up again.

What was Q hiding from him? Who was this '_he_'?


	4. Chapter 4

The next few days Bond couldn't think of anything apart from the conversation he'd overheard. He ran through everything Q had ever told him, but nothing made sense. There were no missing gaps. He only had two clues. The first was when Q had said that this person hadn't cared two years ago, or eighteen months ago. Q's sister had died a year and a half ago. So it was someone who knew about that, but Q had said that he didn't have any other family, both his parents had died when he was in his teens. Q never talked about his sister. All Bond knew was a name: Miranda. He didn't even know what she was sick with. There was no one else at the funeral, either. It also had to be someone higher up than M, because M said he'd reported to them when Q had thought Bond was dead. He vaguely remembered M calling someone when they were frantically driving to Q's house, that awful night of James's return, but M never said who the person was on the other end of the call. Bond couldn't even remember what M had said, he was too focused on getting to Q…

Bond shook his head, his thoughts going round in circles. He was no closer to the truth than he was when he first heard about this mysterious person. He desperately wanted to ask Q about it, but if Q hadn't told him already, then he obviously didn't want Bond to know. And it seemed like M only knew because whatever it was, was in Q's file. Bond didn't have that kind of clearance, and there was no point in asking M. So Bond held his tongue and kept an even closer eye on Q.

A week later he and Q were in Q's office having lunch when M knocked on the door and walked in. Q instantly gave him his full attention, pushing his food aside and opening his laptop.

"M, how can I help you?"

"I'm just letting you know that there's a person coming in to look at that information we got from the organisation. They'll be here at two, and we'll come down to your office and you can go through it with them. They're cleared by people higher up than me."

Q nodded and relaxed back into his chair again.

"Sure thing, 009's not due to land in Uganda until six, so R's perfectly capable taking the Unit until then. Anything else you need?"

M hesitated.

"No, just... We need this person to help us."

Q raised an eyebrow.

"I don't bite, M. It'll be fine."

M nodded.

"Good. Bond, walk me up?"

Bond stood and walked to M's office in silence, knowing that M would talk when he was ready. When they reached M's door, he finally turned around. Eve was out at lunch so the room was empty.

"Bond… Sit in on this meeting. I think Q's going to need you."

Bond frowned and his hand twitched towards his holster.

"Are we expecting any trouble? They'll have weapons taken from them when they enter the building."

"Not that kind of trouble. Just… be there."

Bond nodded and M walked into his office. Bond shook his head; even for MI6 this was a lot of secrets. And it was secrets surrounding Q's past and an unnamed man. Q would never cheat on him, he knew that, and his past list of lovers wasn't long. Even through Uni he was much too focused on his technological education rather than picking up men that Bond guessed would have leapt at the opportunity. So who was this person? What was going on? What did Q not trust him with? He sat down heavily on Eve's desk, and put his head in his hands, trying to calm himself.

"Bond?"

Eve walked in the door and hung her coat up. "Are you OK?"

Bond looked at her.

"Q's not telling me something. Something big that M knows. He's _never_ done something like this before!"

Eve sighed and then crossed the room, putting her hand on Bond's shoulder. She seemed to make up her mind about something and sat at her computer, clicking away on a few of the keys before motioning for Bond to come around the desk. He did, and saw the security cameras from a month ago, the date of his mission to get the information. Silently Eve pressed play. Q-Unit was buzzing and Bond could hear Q's voice talking over the ear-piece.

"Run, 007, _faster_… Turn right into that doorway ahead of you, go downstairs, then left. No, _left_, Bond!"

Bond watched the rest of the scene play out. How Q got so tense when he thought Bond had been shot, and then visibly sagged when Bond talked to him again, and then that tiny quirk of his lips as Bond flirted in front of the minions. He heard the gunshots ring out, and he knew that the radio went dead.

"Tracker! Get his tracker now!"

The footage continued and Q tried desperately to get something, anything online. After 003 disembarked Q went to his office. Here, Eve opened up another tab, with another camera, this one above the inside of the door in Q's office. As she pressed play she excused herself and walked out of the room. Bond sat in her chair and watched Q walk in, close the door, and then collapse on his desk. He stayed there for hours, clutching at his hair, shaking as he tried to control himself. After a while he stood and walked out, and Bond switched the tabs again. Q waved R off and attached himself to 003's ear-piece. Minutes later, 003's words were projected across Q-Unit.

"It's… Oh shit, Q… I'm so sorry. It's, it's the eighth man and… Q, it's Bond. It's James."

Q fell to the ground, hitting his head and lay there before sobs finally choked him. R ran to him, trying to get him to sit up, but it was like Q couldn't even feel her. He began shaking violently and R backed off, obviously not wanting to make things worse. The minions stared, many of them with tears running down their faces, and Bond couldn't look away. He'd never seen Q in so much pain, not even when he woke up from his nightmares. He just looked… broken. Finally Eve walked into Q-Unit and got him into the office where she talked to him, telling him what 003 had found. Bond fast-forwarded through the next few days, watching Q lose weight, not sleep, not even move. He was just staring at his phone, and Bond knew exactly what he was waiting for.

Eventually Eve took Q away, to the apartment, Bond knew. He stopped the video just as Eve walked back in, and he looked at her, wanting to know why she made him watch that. She looked back pitifully.

"You two have been through so much together. Since Skyfall you're both everything to the other person. I don't know what's going on James, but Q would never lose faith in you. He'll tell you when you need to know."

Bond nodded and left the room, heading to the firing range. His mind settled on the questions that had been occupying him, the new sense of perspective relaxing him. Of course it was OK. Q would tell him when he needed to know. Q would always tell him.

At quarter to two he walked back to Q's office. Q was shifting files off his desk, removing what wasn't needed for the meeting in fifteen minutes time. Bond helped him pack them away in the various filing cabinets along one of the walls and then knelt down at the mini-fridge. He pulled out two glasses and poured both himself and Q a drink, pressing the glass into Q's hands. If M was nervous, then Bond certainly was. Something was going to happen, and Bond thought it best that everything at least started off relaxed. They both sat on the couch and Bond checked the door before leaning over and giving Q a light kiss.

"What was that for?" Q asked, smiling.

Bond winked.

"I didn't know I needed a reason, Quartermaster."

Q's smile stretched into a grin.

"I didn't say you needed one either."

Bond laughed and looked through Q's window, then sat up straight.

"They're here early."

Q got up too and walked back to the desk, straightening a file, as M and another man came in the door behind him. M closed the door.

"Sorry we're late, Q," M said and the second man looked around the room as if he was taking every little detail in. He was thin, and Bond noticed some recent bruising around his face. The first impression was that he was tall, but as Bond stood he realised that it was just the long coat and scarf that was wound around his neck. He had dark brown hair like Q, and he also seemed to have Q's cheekbones…

"That's fine, we were just-" Q turned around and froze. His glass shattered at his feet as it hit the ground. Bond's head whipped around, his hand already on his gun. Q was staring at the other man, his face a white mask of shock. He wasn't breathing. The other man looked back patiently, obviously not going to make the first move. After an agonising minute, Q inhaled, and then choked on his own breath. Bond started to move towards him, but M held up his hand, mouthing "Give him a minute." Bond nodded, but he was still on high alert. Who was this person to make Q have such a strong reaction? After Q could finally breathe again, his face changed. It slid through shock into suspicion, and then turned harder, and Bond could sense him closing himself off. Finally his eyes settled on fury.

"You."

The stranger moved.

"Me."

He had the same posh accent as Q, they were obviously from the same area.

"How… What…" Q spluttered again. Bond looked at him incredulously. The only time he'd seen Q lost for words was that night Bond came back from the dead. He looked at the new man again, and this time some sort of recognition stirred in the back of his brain.

"No," Bond said and the stranger looked at him, _analysing_ him. "You died two years ago, it was all over the news."

"Well, obviously I didn't." The stranger brushed Bond off, as if he classified him as something not worth his time. He turned back to Q. "Well, are you going to say anything?"

As if in a trance Q stepped over the broken glass and walked to the stranger. Bond watched as Q lifted his hand and gently laid it on the stranger's cheek. The stranger didn't move.

"You're alive?" Q voice trembled and he couldn't get it louder than a whisper. Bond didn't know what to do. How could these two know each other? Why was Q touching him? A pang of jealousy forced its way up Bond's throat and he quashed it quickly, before Q saw. "You're alive." Q's voice took on a sudden knowing tone, as if he were understanding some code, like something clicked in his brain. He still had his hand on the other man's cheek.

"Are you quite done? I believe there's actual work I'm here for." The stranger snapped, and pulled his face away from Q's hand, as if he didn't understand why Q was so affected. Bond saw Q's back stiffen, and that was the stranger's only warning. In a second Q was on him, delivering punch after punch, to his face, his stomach, until the other man was on the ground. The whole time he was screaming at him:

"How dare you! How _dare_ you go! And then you come back, like nothing's happened? Like nothing-"

Bond leapt forward and grabbed Q around the waist, easily lifting him off the other person, who was helped to his feet by M, sporting a bloody nose, and a few new bruises to add to his collection. Q was shaking again as he vainly fought Bond's grip, and a few tears had escaped onto his cheeks.

"Q, calm down," he whispered in his ear.

"No! I will _not_ calm down James!"

"Quartermaster." This time it was M and Q looked up, fighting for a second longer before he went limp in Bond's arms. Bond continued holding him, pressing him gently to his chest, glaring at the stranger.

"Bond, meet Sherlock Holmes. Mr Holmes, James Bond, one of our top operatives."

"Yes I know," Sherlock said, in a bored tone. "Otherwise known as 007, he used to be your most reckless agent in the field. But almost two years ago now something changed, something that calmed him down. I take it by the way he's holding Jasper that the change came through the beginning of their relationship, which surprisingly has only grown stronger since. I'm surprised Jaz, we both know that you were never one to settle down, even if you did bother to spend more time around people than us two."

Bond tensed as Sherlock used Q's name, his real name. Only he and M knew that information. It was as highly classified as the best secrets of the agency. And how did he know about Bond and Q' relationship? _Who was this man?_ Q glared at him.

"Don't use that name here." His voice rippled with anger. "I'm not that person anymore. Legally, psychologically, I am someone else. Someone _you_ don't know."

"Ah, but biologically it's all still the same. That doesn't change, _Q_." Sherlock's tone was bored. He didn't think this was necessary.

"_Biologically?_" Bond thought. "_… No._"

Q shrugged out of Bond's grip and stood by himself. Bond could see himself force a deep breath down his throat and he wiped his eyes beneath his glasses. He then straightened his shoulders and looked Sherlock square in the eyes.

"Two years."

Sherlock looked back calmly, knowing Q wouldn't hit him again.

"Where's John, Sherlock?"

Something crossed Sherlock's face, breaking through the calm exterior.

"He doesn't know. Yet."

"And you didn't give him the slightest clue, the tiniest bit of hope."

"Not in the circumstances, no."

Q leant back against his desk, ignoring the pile of glass.

"So who knew?"

"Molly Hooper, my homeless network, and-"

The door opened and another man walked in.

"Me."

Bond looked at the newcomer. He was older than Q and Sherlock, closer to Bond's age. He had short hair, and was wearing an expensive suit. As he surveyed the broken glass on the floor he leant on the umbrella in his hand. Finally he looked at Q.

"Hello." Again, the same clipped tones as Q and Sherlock.

"You. Knew."

Q was back to furious, hatred lighting up his eyes, his cheeks burning.

"It was necessary."

"Necessary!"

Q whipped around and grabbed Bond, opening his jacket and pulling his gun from its holster before Bond even recognised what was going on. Q stepped back and levelled it at the new man. Sherlock didn't move, and the other man seemed almost not to notice it. Q looked at M.

"I'll work with Sherlock, although we're going to have a fucking _long_ conversation about this! But not him, not you, Mycroft! You knew! You knew about everything and you didn't care! You deliberately kept me in the dark, even after Miri…! How could you? How could you even think for a _second_ that this was the right thing to do?!"

Bond carefully put his hand on Q's shoulder.

"Q, can I have my gun back please?"

"No."

"Q-"

"No! James…" Q seemed to forget about the other men in the room as he turned around, placing the gun on the table. "Sherlock and Mycroft are _biologically_" he sent a scathing look at Sherlock "my brothers."

Bond, to his credit, didn't even look shocked. He supposed he'd figured it out minutes ago, the family resemblance was too strong.

"Sherlock died. He jumped from the roof of St Bartholomew's Hospital in front of his best friend, John Watson two years ago, because a psychopath was trying to destroy him. Mycroft knew. He knew what Moriarty was doing and he had him in prison and he _let him out_." Q turned on Mycroft. "You _set him_ on Sherlock! You _made_ this happen! And then you didn't even tell me!"

Mycroft sighed.

"Q, I followed your wishes to the letter. I never contacted you, and I stayed out of MI6. I knew it would only be a matter of time before Sherlock joined us in London."

"What happened to Miri?" That was Sherlock, his eyes darting about the room. "You wouldn't decorate your office, _Q_, but there's not even photos of her. Where is she?"

Mycroft started talking, but Q interrupted him.

"Six months, Sherlock. Six. _Fucking_. Months, after you died. She couldn't… She couldn't handle it anymore." Q's eyes glazed over. "She jumped, too."

Bond pieced it together in his head. Miri was Miranda, Q's sister. Sherlock and Mycroft's sister. Half a year after Sherlock had supposedly died, Miranda had committed suicide, too. His memory flashed back to when he'd found Q in his office, the night it happened. No wonder he was a wreck…

Sherlock's blink was his only reaction.

"When did you stop visiting her?" He asked, his eyes flaring. Q gaped for a moment before going for the gun again, but Bond beat him there, snatching it from the table and putting it back in its holster, safely out of reach. "I know you're accustomed to violence now, but you wouldn't hurt me so stop using empty threats, Quartermaster."

"I couldn't, Sherlock! She might've been a target, and-" Q broke off, looking at the ground. Bond had never seen him look so young.

"So you just left her?"

Q's eyes flashed again and he looked Sherlock square in the face.

"You left, too."

The words hung in the room. Sherlock couldn't contradict them, he knew it was true. Mycroft was eyeing Bond, who was looking at Q, ready to catch him in case he fell. M was the only one who looked disinterested in the conversation, Bond guessed that family reunions weren't his strong point. Finally, M talked.

"There is a matter of national security at hand here…"

The silence broken, Q turned to his desk and handed the files to Sherlock, who flicked through them quickly.

"I'll look over these tonight and get back to you in the morning. I need to get to Baker Street and change." Sherlock looked over at Mycroft. "I presume you can drive me?"

Mycroft nodded and Sherlock walked out the door. Q glared at his oldest brother.

"I _am_ sorry, if that means anything Q."

"Just. Leave."

Mycroft followed Sherlock. M looked down at the smashed glass.

"I'll get someone to clean that up. I think you can have an early mark today, Quartermaster. See you tomorrow."

When Bond and Q were finally alone together, Q turned to him, already flinching.

"James, I-"

Bond hugged Q quickly, comforting him before they had to walk through Q-unit.

"No, don't. Not now. Let's just get home."

Q nodded and grabbed his coat. It had been a long day.


	5. Chapter 5

Q opened the bathroom cupboard quietly, unconsciously looking over his shoulder, listening for any sign of Bond waking up. He gazed at the contents and carefully picked out the nail scissors, his heart beating faster already. He twirled them around his finger for a moment, letting the cool metal circle on his skin. He then caught them in his palm and let his thoughts run over his mind, releasing the floodgates and drowning in memories. Sherlock, alive, and seeing straight through his pathetic attempts of clearing his name from Miri's death. Mycroft, walking in and daring to apologise… The last thing Miri had ever said, that she'd hated him, that he didn't love her because he'd stopped calling her. He closed his hand tightly around the scissors and began to feel them cut into his palm. He stopped when the stinging intensified and flicked them over his hand, bringing the points to the top of his wrist. No one but Bond and M had ever asked what the mass of scar tissue there was from, and Q had given them the same answer: that he'd fallen out of a tree when he was six years old. He always focused on that precise spot, because he could easily cover it, with his work-shirt, his coat, and his watch. The scissors dug along his wrist line, and he kept it carefully within the tan-line of his watch, and only hard enough to make it hurt, not enough to draw blood. Any new cuts would be found immediately by Bond, and would lead to an interrogation that would call for subjects Q never wanted to talk about. Really, as long as he was cautious, it was almost ironic how easy it was to keep a secret at MI6. All you needed to do was detach yourself, and people forgot that you had emotions. That when you lost an agent, you broke down as soon as you got home, but you can't in front of the whole Unit. The exception being when Bond had died, but that was different. Bond was different.

Falling in love was not on Q's agenda. Falling in love with a reckless double 0 wasn't even a possibility, or so he'd thought. But Skyfall changed things. Not only his job title, but also how he thought about work; he'd realised how important his job really is. He owed Bond so much, so much time and effort and love, which is why Q could never tell him about this. About the scissors in the bathroom cupboard and the scars under his watch. He'd never understand. It's not an act of self-hatred, or even a cry for help, or attention. It's simply something which he was 100% in control. It was a way to release tension, just like how Bond used alcohol for so long. It helped him sleep.

He'd started when his parents had died, he was a teenager. Mycroft did his best with him and Miri, even Sherlock tried to be more responsible, but it was never going to be the same. It continued at University, where he found out that he was the only one completely focused on education. He'd felt so alone, and threw himself further and further into his studies. There were a few years where Q had felt OK, that things were going well. When he finally started getting access to the codes which really tried out his brain he'd loved every part of life and he tired himself out so much during the day he was coming home and collapsing in bed. When Sherlock died, after Skyfall, things had gotten much harder. Miri was getting worse and worse and Q couldn't talk to her as much anymore. They'd just had a massive break-in to the headquarters of the MI6, who knows what phone-lines were being tapped, who was getting followed home on the tube? He'd barely talked to her for months before she'd finally called, in tears, telling him that he was nothing to her, because she was nothing to him.

He'd driven so fast, but didn't get there in time.

Since Bond had moved in, everything had been going well. Even if Q had a rough day at work, Bond could always find a way to cheer him up, make him feel in control, even if it was only allowing him to make the decision of which take-away they were going to eat at that night. It meant the world to Q. And after Markusi Q had flinched at even the thought of causing himself more pain. After everything they'd done, Q couldn't even handle scissors without shaking for months. But he'd worked through it, with Bond always supporting him.

But it had been a bad day. Sherlock was alive, but knew that it was his fault Miri died. Mycroft was still lording it over everyone, and worst of all, Bond knew. Bond had found out everything. The car trip home was silent, and neither of them were hungry. They'd showered and fallen into bed, barely saying good night before they were both asleep. Q had woken up thirty minutes before the alarm, and had snuck out of bed, and headed towards the bathroom. He couldn't start a day this wound up, he wouldn't be able to get through anything.

As his thoughts wondered he pressed down just too much on the scissors and he felt the blades slip underneath his skin. He swore in his head and turned the tap on, wiping away the drops of blood on his wrist and on the metal. He heard the bed groan as Bond got up in the next room. Quickly, Q strapped his watch on and was trimming his fingernails as Bond opened the door.

"Morning," Bond said, wrapping his arms around Q's waist. Q leant back into him, closing his eyes.

"Morning."

"How long have you been up?"

"Not even long enough to put the kettle on. Coffee?" Q tried to shuffle underneath Bond's arms, but Bond only tightened his hold.

"Not yet. Do you want to talk before work?"

Q sighed and Bond released him.

"Alright then."

They both walked over to the bed and Q sat down, cross-legged, playing with his pillow-case.

"Sherlock's five years older than me, and Mycroft's seven years older than that. Miranda was my twin. As you know, my parents died in a car crash when Miri and I were fourteen. Our brothers did their best, but they're not social people, so Miri and I raised ourselves. After Skyfall I began to cut down on talking to Miri, she always battled with depression, but I thought the risk of her being traced to me was higher than the risk to herself. I was wrong. Sherlock died six months after Skyfall, and Miri went six months after that. I'm sure you read all the stories about Moriarty, but no one knew that Mycroft, who's pretty much the British government, had Moriarty in a cell. A cell which had Sherlock's name carved into it a hundred times. Moriarty was obsessed, and Mycroft let him go. As you saw yesterday, Mycroft also didn't bother to tell me that Sherlock was alive." Q took a deep breath. "I'm sorry you had to be there for that. You know I usually don't leap to violence, even when I'm upset."

Bond reached out and tugged at Q's arm until Q lay in his lap. Bond massaged Q's head, running his hands through Q's hair, and he felt Q sag against him.

"Firstly, don't ever apologise for your reaction to something, especially something as big as that. Hearing that story, I wouldn't have been surprised if you had fired." He felt Q huff against his leg. "Now, I do appreciate you telling me about your childhood, and filling in these bits that I didn't know, but that's not what I wanted to talk about right now."

"What is it, then?"

"I want to know why you didn't tell me. Sherlock I can understand, because we didn't really know each other at the time. And I knew a bit about your sister, although it really was the bare minimum… But even after we moved in together, Q? You didn't think that I would want to know something so important, so vital?"

Q thought about it for a few moments, registering what Bond was really saying.

"Are you upset that I didn't tell you, or are you upset because M knew and you didn't?"

Bond pulled back, making Q sit up.

"Don't you dare. Don't you dare suggest this is anything about that at all, Q! This is entirely about you, and the bits of you that I had no clue about. I don't care what M knows, and when I had that run-in a month ago, I'm glad M _did_ know! Otherwise he mightn't have pieced everything together so quickly. It is _only_ the fact that you didn't tell me something big, and I want to know why?"

Q looked at him warily, biting his lip for a tense moment.

"Ok, I'm sorry. I guess I'm not too happy with M at the moment, either." Q let out a big sigh. "I guess I didn't tell you because it felt too _big_. I didn't know where to start. And also… Talking about it… It means it's real. It was so much easier to live with no family after Miri. I don't share the same name as any of them obviously, but I all but disowned Mycroft. I'm not actually surprised he got M to keep tabs on me, I knew he wouldn't be able to completely step out of my life. And I was so angry at Sherlock… I always wonder if he hadn't done his little stunt, if Miri wouldn't have…"

Bond pulled Q in again and lay them both down. They were quiet while Q's breathing returned to normal, steadying himself against the timing of Bond's heart.

"I _am_ sorry, though. But please believe me James, that it wasn't a matter of trust or confidence, I just simply didn't want to relive it."

"It's OK."

Q rolled over, facing him, reading his expression.

"No. It's not."

Q rolled off the bed and disappeared into another part of the house. Bond could hear him rummaging around in the study, and then his returning footsteps. When he entered the room, Q stood near Bond's side of the bed and waited for Bond to sit up. He was holding a massive folder that had a red outline on an otherwise blank cover. It was the mark of the highest security code in MI6. Q held it towards Bond, who just stared at it.

"Take it," Q said, waving it a little.

"I can't."

"Yes, you can."

"No, Q, I don't have clearance, I can't see whatever's in that file, and you could get fired for showing me."

Q sighed and dropped it in Bond's lap.

"No, I won't. I'm not showing you missile launch codes, James, honestly. This is my file. It's not on any computers, so it can never be hacked into. This is the only copy of it in the world, and M and I decided that here was much safer, and less suspicious, than MI6. Because it's my information, I can give it to whomever I like. You'll be the fourth person to read this, myself, the old M, and the current M being the only other three. Take your time, I'm going to go put the kettle on."

Q leant down and kissed Bond on the cheek before walking out of the room. Bond watched him go, incredulous, before looking down at the paper in front of him. This was the story of Q's life. It would have everything from his parent's marriage certificate to his birth certificate, all his reports and comments through school, every assignment handed in, every grade he'd received, all the people he'd ever met in his life, information on his brothers, his sister… The document stating he and Q were in a relationship, everything, even all the psychologist's notes from his whole time at MI6… Bond had never seen a greater sign of trust, or responsibility. With a steady and loving hand, he opened it to the first page and began to read.


	6. Chapter 6

Q kept his back straight as he walked out the door and into the kitchen, only allowing himself to slump when he was leaning over the kettle. His heart was pounding in his ears and the room was spinning slightly. Had he done the right thing? Or had he just made a huge mistake? He knew every word in that file. The teacher's reports, which turned from the usual comments to slight disgust as Q went through his smart-ass years, to glowing feedback in University, with comments attached to job offers, even though that wasn't strictly legal, were not to be worried about. Some of the psychologist's notes were cringe-worthy, but Bond knew most thoughts that crossed Q's mind to do with Markusi, he'd been an integral part of Q's healing process, so there was nothing to worry about there, either. There were only a few documents that Q deliberately hadn't told Bond, or that he hadn't found out about in the past twenty-four hours.

The real worry was the reports from Q's high school when they discovered his self-harm. There had been a huge discussion where Mycroft and Sherlock were both bought in (it never really was decided who was Q and Miranda's legal guardian) and Q was made to leave school and take a holiday. The school had been so horrified to find that one of their students could act this way that there was even talk of expelling him, but the combined efforts of his older brothers stopped that train of thought; they really were terrifying when they worked together. The second report of it was after he'd returned from the break, which was mostly just him in his room at his computer, hacking into the school's security cameras so he could listen in on lessons. This one was worse, as he'd been found by a student rather than a teacher, and so the rest of the school soon found out. Q had never kept to his room more.

The third time, and the last time as far as that school was concerned, was almost general knowledge. The school tried to get Q into counselling, finally, but there was less than a term until he was graduating and they decided not to push it. Sherlock and Mycroft were involved each time, but because Miri was falling faster into her destructive habits than Q was, he always seemed to take the back-seat in even those great minds. All this was apparent from the reports, the minutes from the meetings with his brothers, and their correspondence with the school, trying desperately to keep Q involved. Bond didn't know about any of this, of course. Q thought of what he was going to say. Would he hate him, knowing his weakness? Would he not want to see him anymore, want to break up and move out? Bond hated weakness in himself, when he was abusing alcohol he'd lowered himself into that pit of self-loathing with every sip and it almost destroyed him. Q heard shuffling in the bedroom, and his heart sped up even more as be broke out in a cold sweat. He couldn't leave.

He wouldn't, would he?

"Don't, please don't go, James," Q muttered as he heard his partner's footsteps echo down the hall. As he saw Bond appear around the corner the tension overwhelmed him and Q staggered. He tried to catch the bench-top to steady himself, but missed, and he hit the floor hard.

Bond read through the file quickly, skimming over what he knew, delving into the files he didn't. When he reached the reports of self-harm through Q's high school years he had to pause. To be perfectly honest, he wasn't surprised. A child couldn't go unchanged through both parent's deaths, he knew from personal experience, and Miranda frequently blamed Q for her own strong emotions, holding her other brothers in regards equal to gods. Bond's heart twinged when he read how abysmally the school had dealt with it. He flicked through the rest, most of it was what he already knew. There was some more information about his brothers, including Sherlock's death and Mycroft's estrangement. By the time he had reached the part about himself, he wasn't expecting any more surprises, but there was one more. He was just scanning the last psychologist's notes when he noticed his name in the transcript:

Q: James.

Dr Munn: OK. Anyone else?

Q: There doesn't need to be.

Dr Munn: Have you ever thought that maybe James's job is impacting on your relationship?

Q: No.

Dr Munn: The long hours, the danger? It doesn't change any aspect of you two?

Q: It doesn't change anything, it defines it. I'm as committed to my job as I am to James, and I know he feels the same way. Our jobs are part of our relationship. We don't work around them, we work with them. It's all part of who we are.

Dr Munn: Is there anything you've never told him?

Q: Yes. But everyone has their secrets.

Dr Munn: Is it something I know?

Q: No.

Dr Munn: Is it something you're planning on telling either of us?

Q: Unless the situation absolutely calls for it, there's no point.

Dr Munn: I know you know that M said if I see certain symptoms I have to alert him. You're not showing any signs of stress which is the only reason I'm not pushing this. But don't you think that whatever it is, James would be upset that he doesn't know?

Q: James trusts me. And although he doesn't understand some of my decisions, just as I don't understand some of his, he trusts me to make the correct ones.

Dr Munn: And you feel like this is one of those correct ones?

Q: Of course. If you'll excuse me, our hour's up, and an agent's mission is due to commence in twelve minutes.

Dr Munn: See you on Wednesday, Q. I hope all goes well for the mission.

That transcript ended, as did the file. This was less than a week ago. Bond couldn't imagine the amount of information Q would have to add to it soon, what with his brother's return and all. He thought about everything he'd read, his mind mostly staying on the self-harm reports. The way he saw it, it was just another part of Q, and a part that was in the past. They would talk, because Bond knew Q would need the reassurance, but it didn't need an inquiry. His stomach rumbled as he got out of bed and changed into his work clothes, and he quickly made his way to the kitchen. But as he walked down he realised that he'd never heard the sound of Q pouring his tea, and there was definitely no coffee smell in the air. He hurried his steps and rounded the corner, seeing Q with a look of pure terror on his face for the split second before he crashed to the floor. Bond ran to him and picked him up easily, carrying him to the couch.

"Q? Q, talk to me!"

Q's eyelids fluttered closed and he murmured something so quietly that Bond had to lean in to catch it.

"I didn't make you coffee, because I didn't know if you were staying."

Bond looked at his lover's face and his expression softened. He bent down and kissed Q's forehead, his cheek, his lips. After a minute Q opened his eyes again, and colour started bringing his face to its normal shade.

"Why on earth would you think that I would be going anywhere?" Bond asked, still surprised at the dramatic reaction.

"Because you hate weakness," Q said, not able to look Bond in the eye.

"Is this about the stuff at high school? Q, it's not a weakness, it's just another part of you. And it's in the past, it's done, it's fine. If I'm staying even though you hid two brothers from me, I'm definitely not going because of something like that. I love you, remember? And I trust you. With my life."

Q looked at him, trying to tell if he was telling the truth.

"The only thing I'm angry about is how the school dealt with it, it's appalling and I'm sorry that you didn't get the support you needed at the time."

Bond hugged Q closer, holding him, comforting him with his body's warmth. Q looped an arm around Bond's back and pulled him closer.

"I am sorry, though."

"You shouldn't be."

They stayed together until Q's phone rang. He sighed and got up, crossing to the kitchen table and picking it up.

"Hello? Oh, hi… You're in my office? No, I'm still at home… Yes, I'm leaving now… No, don't! Tell him I don't need a lift to work, for God's sake, I'll get there how I always do… Yes, that's with James… No one's making you, Sherlock! Fine, I'll see you soon."

Q hung up the phone and turned to face Bond, looking annoyed.

"I had seriously forgotten how infuriating he is. You ready to go?"

"You need breakfast."

"I'll eat in the car."


	7. Chapter 7

The heat hit them the moment they walked into MI6. Q immediately stripped off his coat, and his cardigan, and stopped one of his minions in the lobby.

"David, what is going on?"

"The heat's broken, sir. They're trying to fix it now. We're running fans down in the Unit, to keep the equipment cool."

"Right, thank you."

David ran off in the direction of Maintenance, presumably to get more fans. Q and Bond moved towards Q-Unit, the heat intensifying the further into the building they got. By the time they'd reached Q's office, Bond had taken off his coat, his jacket, and his tie, and had opened up the top buttons of his shirt. Q was down to his shirt as well, and was rolling up the sleeves as they walked through the door.

Sherlock was on Q's couch, resting his chin on his arched fingertips, not looking up as they came in the door. Bond looked at him curiously, there were bruises on his face which were more recent than the ones Q had given him yesterday, and he seemed to not even recognise someone had entered the room.

"He's in his Mind Palace," Q said as he dumped his bag on the ground.

"Mind Palace?"

"It's a memory-storage system. Sherlock's head works like a computer. He's found a way to store unlimited information in there, in his Mind Palace. He gets lost trying to find information, though, so he zones out a bit. Don't touch him, he'll wake up soon. And when he does, he'll have figured out who's behind all this." Q sat down at his desk and opened his computer before leaning down and pressing his forehead to the keys. "Oh James, it's so hot in here."

Bond undid another button on his shirt, sighed, and undid the rest.

"They'll fix it soon… I take it you can't hack into the central heating system?"

"No, but I'm certainly going to redesign it so I can."

Bond opened the fridge door and poured them both a drink of cold water, Q accepted his gratefully. Just as he pressed the glass to his lips, his phone buzzed. Q glanced at the screen before heaving a huge sigh. Bond raised an eyebrow.

"It's Eve, Mycroft's on his way down."

He fired back a quick thank you message and smoothed his already-ruffled shirt.

"Do you want me to leave?" Bond was still trying to figure out the protocol with Q's brothers, they were so different from anyone he'd ever met. The analysis Sherlock had given him yesterday was chilling.

"Are you kidding? This is a work matter, you're staying no matter what happens. If there's a security clearance issue, I'll take care of it."

Bond nodded and sat down next to Sherlock on the couch, careful not to jostle him. A minute later Mycroft walked through the door.

"Oh good, you've arrived. Sherlock's been here for five hours, I believe he called you this morning?"

"Yes," Q answered sullenly. It was obvious that Mycroft was still going to be an issue.

"Have you eaten?"

"Shut up, Mycroft."

"He ate in the car," Bond offered, and then flinched internally at Q's withering glare. He was going to pay for that later.

"I'm glad someone's allowed to keep tabs on him. Which reminds me. We've got a little time before Sherlock resurfaces, so, let's talk." He walked over to the chair on the opposite side of Q's desk and sat in it, looking confident. "How's psychology?"

"Piss off."

Bond made a mental note to tell Q that he was incredibly sexy when he was angry. He also leaned over and shut the office door. This might get loud.

"Q, we've not talked for two years. Something must have happened. You moved apartments?"

"For God's sake, Mycroft. Just read my file, why don't you?"

"It's in your bedroom at the moment, so I can't."

There was a pause.

"You're bugging our house?" Mycroft opened his mouth but Q wasn't done. "You are _bugging_ our house?! That's our home, Mycroft! That's the one place where we don't have to worry about spies and secrets and all that hidden stuff here! And you infiltrated it! Without me knowing?"

"That's not true." Sherlock looked up and stretched. His voice was rough and he winced as he touched his nose.

"What?" Q said, not even asking about his brother's colourful face.

"He might have read your file this morning, but you haven't told him. You haven't told anyone. And you're careful, you always were, Q. You even managed to slip it past Mycroft and I occasionally, if we were very busy."

Mycroft looked from Sherlock to Q.

"What on earth are you talking...? Oh." Understanding flooded him, quickly followed by disapproval. "Q, really? We've talked about this."

Q was frozen in his chair, his face white. Bond looked at the brothers, who were both looking like disappointed parents.

"What's going on?" He asked, the whole situation going over his head.

"Don't." Q said, not looking away from Sherlock.

"Q, I thought you might at least find someone intelligent. You can't guess, Bond?" Sherlock said scathingly. Bond ignored the slight.

"No. What's going on?"

"Please Sherlock, don't." Q was whispering. Bond got up and walked around the desk, putting his hand on Q's shoulder. Q flinched at the contact and Bond drew back in surprise. It had been months since Q had a negative reaction to physical contact. What was happening?

"How many screens does Q have around him at any point in time? In any room? Have you ever seen him without his phone? No. Q has the highest ranking technological job in the world, of course he would never be without his precious equipment. So, this just begs one question to be asked."

"And what's that?"

"Sherlock, shut up! Shut up now! You left and she left and Mycroft was nothing, and you can't come back here and screw everything up! Don't!"

Sherlock ignored him, staring at Bond, his eyes piercing him.

"Why does he have to wear a watch?"

To Q's intense surprise, Bond laughed, albeit nervously.

"Because it's normal? Because he wants to? Because I bought that particular one for him when I was in Shanghai a while ago? Does there need to be a specific reason?"

Sherlock and Mycroft rolled their eyes, almost in unison. Then Sherlock leapt off the couch, the same time as Mycroft rolled his chair to the side. Sherlock reached for Q's wrist and almost got it before he was slammed into the ground. His vision swam for a second, and when it focused he was looking down the barrel of a Walther. The owner of it looked pissed, and had Q behind his back.

"Brothers or not, _no one_ touches Q without his permission, do you understand?" Bond took a step back so he could keep Mycroft in his vision as well. "Do you understand," he asked them both. After a second they both nodded and Bond put his gun back inside his jacket and turned around to face Q. He cupped his gorgeous face in his calloused hands. "Is there anything you want to tell me?"

"No."

"Is there anything you would rather I knew without you telling me?"

There was a pause.

"Yes," Q whispered.

"Ok, good. I'm going to pick you at up nine this evening, unless someone screws up during the day, and I'll drop you home. Then I'll go out and get dinner. You following me?"

"Yes."

"Just like last time, alright, Q?"

Q nodded.

"Just like last time."

Bond bent down and pressed his lips against Q's, who immediately relaxed underneath them.

"I have to go help 003 with his training exercise, some of the new recruits need a little more scaring than usual. I'll see you at lunch. I'll have my earpiece in, though, if you need anything."

Bond nodded at the two elder Holmes brothers and walked out the door, shutting it behind him. Sherlock picked himself up off the ground, and collapsed back into the sofa again.

"Well, nice to know you've got protection, little brother," he said, smirking.

"James has been particularly… focused for the past six months,"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. Q looked at Mycroft who answered Sherlock's unasked question.

"Jasper was kidnapped from his own home six months ago, and held at a remote island and tortured for a fortnight. The organisation that you're looking into for them is tied to the people who took him."

Sherlock looked Q up and down.

"Grafting," Q said. "There are no scars."

"I take it that whoever was responsible-"

"James took care of the immediate people, I can assure you. But there was a boss. It was organised."

"Mycroft, have you looked over the file?"

"Last night, I presume you came to the same conclusion I did."

"Precisely," Sherlock said, standing up. "Case closed. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to go find John again. Apparently I have some things to make up for." He made for the door.

"No, wait a minute! Case closed?" Q couldn't believe it, he'd been tracking this organisation for half a year and his brothers waltzed in and deciphered everything in a night? If that didn't sum up his childhood, he didn't know what did… Sherlock ignored him and walked out of the office. Mycroft sighed dramatically.

"It was Moriarty. It's got his fingerprints all over it. Sherlock spent the past two years disarming what he could of Moriarty's spy network, but there was a mass weapons trading scheme that slipped through our fingers. I'm sorry that we couldn't get them before they got you. I can assure you that the rest of the organisation has been taken down and I'll deliver the related paperwork to M. We should have dinner soon, the three of us and your Bond. Good luck tonight."

And with that, Mycroft left the room. Q gazed at the open door before his computer _pinged_ with an incoming email. He read it quickly.

"R," he called out of the office door. She appeared immediately, tablet in hand. "Bond and 003 have somehow set fire to the training room. It might be a good opportunity to test those fire repellents we've been working on."

She nodded curtly and sprang into action as Q cracked his neck and got to work.


	8. Chapter 8

A couple of hours later, Bond and Q had both collapsed on Q's couch, both slightly singed, and laughing hysterically. Tears streamed down Q's cheeks as he held his sides, trying to take a breath.

"Did you see M's _face_?" Bond managed to say and Q rolled onto the floor, unable to sit up straight anymore. Without knocking, R opened the door, took one look at both of them and closed the door again. Q was obviously overtired and needed to rest. The slight interruption only made them both laugh harder, and Bond reached over to the fridge to get himself a drink. Q took advantage of Bond's arm being stretched out and pounced on him off the floor, leaping into his chest and pushing him back against the couch. The second it took for Bond to restrain himself from his training was the only second Q needed to lean down and snog Bond, a quick kiss turning into Q sucking on the Bond's lower lip. Bond groaned and grabbed Q's thighs before lifting him off his lap, and distributing him onto his desk. Q tightened his legs on Bond and closed the small gap between them. Bond's fingers worked his way down Q's shirt, sliding through the buttons. The timing was immaculate, as soon as Bond's hands actually touched Q's skin, Q's work mobile, personal mobile, and the phone on his desk all started ringing, and his email went haywire.

"What?" Q muttered, before leaning back on his desk to reach for the nearest phone. He kept his legs wrapped around Bond though, forcing him to lean forward with him. Q bought his desk phone to his ear.

"Hello, Q speaking." There was a moment's pause before Q went off on such a roll of swear words even Bond got lost. After a minute, and many threats later, Q slammed the phone down, the fire in his eyes completely changed as he disentangled himself.

"What's happening?" Bond asked, wary.

"Mycroft is _fucking bugging_ my office! That was him, telling me to remain professional whilst at work, the arsehole!"

Bond reached out and grabbed Q's waist, bringing his face up to his again.

"You know how I do _love_ it when you remain professional, Quartermaster," he whispered, using his best sensual tone. Q kissed him thoroughly but as soon as he put his hand under Bond's shirt, the phones started ringing again.

"If you'll excuse me for one moment, my dear," Q said acidly before sitting down at his desk and opening up a new program. It took him under a minute to find the five miniscule cameras hidden in the room, and half that time to step on each of them. When he was done, Bond held out his arms again, but Q motioned for him to wait. A moment later his phone rang for a third time, and Q quickly plugged in an extra cord before picking it up.

"Hello?" He said, in a voice suited to a shop teller. His fingers flew over the keyboard as he listened with feigned patience. "Well Mycroft, if you didn't want your cameras to be destroyed, you shouldn't have put them in my room. Now if you'll be the best brother that you are, you're going to hang up now and not do that again." Q waited, presumably listening. "No? Ok then." He hit a button on the computer and hung up the phone at the same time. He waited for ten seconds before relaxing in his chair and allowing himself a satisfied smile. "Well, he won't be calling again."

"What did you do?" Bond said, as he circled the desk, running his fingers through Q's hair.

"I shut down his mobile. He's either going to have to buy a new one, which he won't, or he'll have to apologise to me and I'll fix it."

Bond laughed as he kissed Q's forehead.

"You're a genius."

Q looked up so he could kiss Bond properly.

"Oh, I know. Now, where were we? Ah, that's right… I was being _professional_."

After Bond left, Q started feeling nervous. The slight revenge on his oldest brother wasn't nearly enough to stop him thinking about the promised events with Bond that evening. Whenever something came up in Q's psychology meetings that he didn't want to tell Bond, Bond would leave the house and Q would write him a note. When it was done, Q would leave it on the kitchen table and Bond would read it when Q was out of the room. It was a roundabout way of sharing information, but it meant that Q could write exactly what he wanted to say and how he wanted to say it, rather than tumbling over his words if he told Bond face to face. He was still trying to think of how he'd word it.

"Dear James,

It's not serious…"

"Dear James,

It's not why you think…"

"Dear James,

My brothers can be real dicks sometimes, and this is one of those times…"

Throughout the afternoon and evening different arguments and promises ran across Q's mind, each sounding much worse than the last. Finally, when he was seated at the kitchen table and Bond had gone out to get dinner, he decided how he was going to begin.

"Dearest James,

Sometimes I can't sleep…"

Bond opened the door quietly, and heard the sound of the shower running. He put the food on the table before picking up the letter. He unfolded it and started to read.

"Dearest James,

Sometimes I can't sleep.

And I don't mean I can't wind my mind down, or I get that awful insomnia that sometimes hangs around you, I just mean that I lie down sometimes, and I just _know_ that I won't sleep. It's always been like that, ever since my parents died. I've never told you about that, have I? Or about Miranda, or even Sherlock and Mycroft. Mostly because, for the past two years, I've done my best to make sure that none of them were real. But it seems like that particular past is coming back to haunt me, and goodness knows you deserve the truth, the whole truth, and not just some words in my file.

My parents were driving Miri to school. That was it. There were no crazy drunk drivers, no one micro sleeping at the wheel, just the plain old rain, a corner, and the knowledge that this would have been the fifth time Miri was late to class in a row. I was already at school, pretending to listen to some god awful teacher about the volcanic movements in the Pacific Ocean. I was actually reprogramming the school's database, it was always so slow to access information. A messenger entered the room, and everyone sat up, begging for it to be for them, so they could get out of the boredom that is high school. I begged too.  
I wish I hadn't.  
Both Sherlock and Mycroft were waiting for me in the foyer, and I knew something was wrong because the two of them weren't fighting for once. I jumped in Mycroft's car and as we drove to the hospital they told me what had happened. Our parents were dead, and my twin sister wasn't waking up.

I promise that whenever you ask, James, I'll tell you a story about them. My parents, or my sister, or my brothers, even, although their stories are usually a lot more boring. But for the life of me, I can't remember any right now. Isn't that odd?

It took Miri a month to wake up, and all the physical test results came back perfect, to everyone's astonishment. She'd healed well, she always did. But it didn't take long for me to notice that something wasn't right. She began shutting herself in her room for days on end, only eating when someone forced the door down. She lost all her friends at school, and then she stopped going to school. Mycroft and Sherlock were horrified; education was to be held in the highest respect and here was their little sister, throwing it away, after she very nearly lost her life. They didn't understand, of course, they don't _get_ people. Miri didn't see it as a chance, or an opportunity. She'd solidified one thought in her mind, and that was that if she had died, Mum and Dad would've lived.

As you can imagine things got worse and worse from there, for all of us. You've read my school reports, you know how I reacted. Mycroft and Sherlock disassociated themselves. They loved Miri more than no one but me, but it was almost like every time they took her to the hospital, they were taking a stranger. When they talked about her, they always shared stories from _before_ the accident, like she'd died as well. In a way, that was even harder to listen to than Miri begging us to just leave her alone.

Years passed and we all grew up. Mycroft is now pretty much the British government, and Sherlock's finally famous enough for his ego, with his consulting detective job. There's me, Q, and there was Miri, who got a shift at a local store every now and again. She couldn't work, which was the worst thing for her. She was so bright, James, so intelligent, she could've been anything she wanted, but because she stopped going to school, no one would give her a chance. After I got my promotion I had to cut down on the time I spent with her. With Silva's security breach, I figured that it was more dangerous to keep in contact. What if they'd traced her to me? She was already broken, any kidnapping or hostage situation would have been the end of her. She was angry at me, certain that I'd given up on her, because I couldn't offer her any explanation apart from 'work' whenever I had to turn down a lunch date. You can imagine why I hated Sherlock after he died. After everything between the four of us, he was the one who cracked. And as if that didn't give Miri even more reason… And Mycroft knew! He knew and he didn't tell her! He didn't tell me.

That day that you found me in my office… She'd called me and told me that I hated her, that everyone did, and that I obviously didn't love her because I didn't call her anymore. She said goodbye… I drove so fast, James. I got three speeding tickets from getting from HQ to just outside London, but I still wasn't quick enough. I found her on the ground, just like John had found Sherlock. Her phone was still next to her, she must've been holding on to it when she… I called the right people, knowing that they would contact Mycroft too. But Mycroft knew that he wasn't welcome at the funeral, and he didn't contact me which I'm grateful for. But I was even more grateful for you. When you just walked into my office, and just held me, I felt, for a second, that things would be OK. And that's all I needed. I'll never be able to repay you for that, love.

But, I'm still wearing that watch, and my brothers are still prats.

I'm careful that I never bleed. I know anything different would be noticed by you, or M, or Dr Munn. And then the questions start, just like they did in high school, and it leads to all sorts of terrible situations, mostly with my brothers once again being disappointed in me. I should've known _they'd_ notice. It almost would've been a joke if they hadn't.

I'm sorry. I'm sorry that you thought I was this calm and collected person, and the more you get to know me, the more you find that I'm as screwed up as everyone else. I wish I could be better for you. And maybe after Sherlock, I could have. But Miri and I… I'll show you a picture sometime, although I'll have to find them again. But we even _looked_ alike, James. I loved her. And I thought that would be enough.

Sometimes I can't sleep. And I don't know what else to do.

Yours, as always,

Jasper.


End file.
